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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26814748">Fitting In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir'>Fafsernir</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>CRinktober 2020 - one shots [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Loneliness, Stealing, pre campaign</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:27:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26814748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a new city, with new people. Beau still felt alone. It was pretty much all she felt, so she seeked out some thrill in any form she could.</p><p>Written fr CRinktober day 4: Fear</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>CRinktober 2020 - one shots [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952869</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fitting In</h2></a>
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    <p>There was a flash of grey in the corner as the poor shopkeeper shouted what had happened to whomever would listen.</p><p>Beauregard didn't hear it, too busy being said flash of grey. Her ragged pants had lost their white a long time ago. She sprinted into an alley and swore under her breath. She should have known this was a dead end, but she had been too distracted lately. Too much had happened. Too many things were new. Too many things were out of her control. She was trapped with those fucking monks and their stupid books. She liked the fighting part, but she had to study before getting to that. So far, it had been pretty lame. So, putting on some of the only clothes she had brought from home, ditching any sort of top that didn't consist of bandages, she had peaced out for a bit. </p><p>Stealing was the only thing giving her any sort of thrill. The only thing making her feel alive as she rotted away in what could very much be called a prison. Left with only her loneliness and some clothes as the only familiar things to her. Left with thoughts of exactly why she was there, and a list of people to blame. Stealing helped her feel. Feel something that wasn't the constant numbness or self-loathing she had been getting to know well lately. </p><p>Stealing was easy, too.</p><p>Even when she ended up in a dead end. </p><p>With a swift jump, she easily reached the threshold of a house which was peeking out of the front as a decorative statement. Beau could appreciate the functionality of it, at least. She climbed the rest of the house pretty easily, disappearing on the other side before anyone could see her. She stayed there, perched on a roof, pressed against tiles and breathing heavily. She scoffed a “stupid” under her breath as she caught her breath.</p><p>The city was bustling too much for her to hear what was happening in the alley, from her hiding spot. It was also too noisy for her to notice the other presence on the roof. </p><p>She only took notice when she felt a blade against her chin. She didn’t see a face, not even much of an arm, but the dagger was very real, and pressed against her throat. </p><p>Beauregard had rarely been scared of anything. It was something she prided herself in. She was scared of loneliness, but no one knew that and she would never tell a living soul, or even a dead one, in this world. But on that roof, where she had made sure no one would see her, it suddenly hit her that she was at the mercy of someone else. She wouldn't go out in a glorious fight in the street with witnesses to remember her. She would die on a roof, as alone as her life had been so far, and no one would know and no one would try to know, and she would be forgotten. It should be logical, but it hit her that she had that fear. Of being forgotten as soon as she was gone. And she had gotten herself in a situation where it could very easily happen. Where it was going to happen, she was sure.</p><p>“Your training is far from done,” a voice Beau had started to know said and the dagger disappeared.</p><p>To say she was relieved was an understatement. And yet, her answer was to shrug Dairon off. “Bug off.”</p><p>She braced herself for the long sermont she sure was going to receive once they got back, or as they walked back. She handed back what she had stolen - a wooden statue of no value - and kept her poker face on when Dairon looked at her surprisingly. Beauregard wasn’t stealing for money, but she definitely didn’t need to share that with anyone.</p><p>So far, this place sucked too, and she was not too familiar with it yet. She was becoming more and more certain that no place would accept her, no place would have her.</p><p>She didn’t seem to fit anywhere.</p>
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